How can I ever forget the first night that you met me, after
the Lord had touched my heart, in that blessed room? or how many
times you took me by the hand, and led me to the throne of grace?
Often I was in the dark, and the Lord, through you, was pleased to
give me rest. Can I ever forget, when the hand of the Lord rested on
me in the death of my dear children,[1] how many times you came as
an angel of peace to wipe away my tears? Shall I ever forget the
Lord's coming among us by the still rain of the Holy Spirit? or
those meetings of the sisters for prayer? or those tearful pleadings
in the closets? Can I ever forget the fervent supplications and
preaching of blessed Mr. Stocking, and how he begged us to flee from
the wrath to come? If I forget these, let my right hand forget her
cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.
[Footnote 1: Page 185]
It is a year, my beloved, since I have been able to go to Oroomiah.
I have sorrowed greatly to be cut off so long from the supper of our
Lord, and them that meet around his table. Perhaps it is because I
am not worthy of the blessing. The Lord mercifully grant that I be
not cut off from the heavenly supper of the Lamb.
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